I’m so tired of being worried about the safety of my students and myself in places where none of us should have to be worried. I’m angry that there have been 11 shootings at schools around this country just since the beginning of this year. Not this school year. This calendar year. 24 days. We’ve barely been in school 11 days this calendar year.

Today was my first lock down at my new school. I’m actually kind of glad it was during my prep hour, because I wasn’t totally sure of all the protocols quite yet. I knew the basics – what teacher doesn’t at this point? Still there were expectations that I was not aware of and that I’m slowly learning. What’s worse is that it wasn’t a drill, but there wasn’t an active threat within the building. It ended quickly. What happened was explained clearly and in a timely manner.

Still, every time it happens, I am shaken. I thought about Kentucky yesterday, about Las Vegas, about Newtown, about Virginia Tech, about Rocori, about Columbine, about Red Lake. The names are burned into my mind. I thought about my own kids and their lock downs, both drills and real lock downs. It’s a violence all of its own, the threats, the practice, the signs on the walls: “In the Event Of An Active Shooter.”

That these events are so common that we have protocols for them, like tornados and fires, is sad. It’s beyond sad, but I can’t think of a more appropriate word whose connotation fits the pit in my stomach that forms every time it happens.

To be sure, I’m more worried about my lessons flopping, or a kid being sick or getting hurt, or that I won’t be able to bring my class together for some reason or another. Those are every day worries, events for which I have contingency plans that typically aren’t needed, but work when need be. I don’t dwell on the existential threats posed by potential violence.

But.

The days where a lock down crashes into our classrooms are reminders of the violence that has occurred far too often. Those days hit hard. I take it home with me and I’m tired.